


Karma's a Killer

by RavioliHailstorm



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guardian Angels, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Protectiveness, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavioliHailstorm/pseuds/RavioliHailstorm
Summary: Sapnap lives with a secret guardian, a Karma Redeemer named Dream who protects him from harm.Even though the Dream Team has stated that they are comfortable with fanfiction, I am happy to take the story down if they request. I'm totally comfortable with them reading it :)Published from January 19th, 2020 to February 16th, 2020.
Kudos: 9





	1. The entity

**Author's Note:**

> **Important author's note: This is my first Dream Team alternate-universe fanfiction fitting into a horror genre. This short story will contain graphic depictions of violence, blood, bullying, and death. This short story will not contain romance. Reader discretion is advised. Otherwise, please enjoy!**

~Sapnap~

Deep unease twisted in my gut as I stared out the back seat window. My friends' van was packed with sweaty, impatient young adults. Glowing headlights penetrated the swarming darkness, illuminating tangled weeds growing upon the deserted dirt road before us. I would rather be sleeping, but my friend group's derision and peer-pressuring compelled me to join their dangerous escapade into the midnight forest.

Exhausted, I dissociated from the aggressively boisterous conversation deafening the cramped vehicle. My ears tuned out my friend group's biting comments. My bleary gaze focused on the ominous trees whizzing past. My fingers fiddled with the zipper on my heavy black coat.

"Are we there yet?" Someone growled with annoyance, shifting in their seat. I could not blame them; our drive was nearing one and a half hours long, and our phones lost Internet connection over twenty minutes ago.

"Perfect timing. The cabin's coming up on our right." Straightening after their announcement, the driver's eyes searched the horizon for our destination: an abandoned cabin nestled deep in the woods.

Pressing the brakes, the driver guided the van off the dirt road onto a patch of dead foliage. Within seconds of the vehicle halting, our friend group's nine total members hopped from their seats and blundered out. Inhaling clean night air relieved my lungs from breathing the hot, stuffy air of the van's inside.

I held open the back seat door for the people beside me, waiting impassively until the friend group's leaders powered off the van and its headlights, thrusting us into near-total darkness. In response, each member of the group drew heavy, battery-powered flashlights from our coat pockets.

Spruce trees towered above our heads, extending for at least a dozen kilometers in every direction. The cabin was not visible, but my friends attested the building lay directly ahead. I could not excuse myself by promising to guard the van, for car theft was highly improbable in the empty forest. I had no choice but to follow.

Shivering, I drew the edges of my jacket closer to my body as the chilly air pierced my clothing and numbed my fingers. My friends' flashlights skittered across the leaf litter. No obvious path directed through the trees; the leaders of my friend group picked a route between the towering spruce trees and blundered forward.

The most determined members of my friend group adopted the lead, while I tailed the rest. Despite my apprehension, the forest itself was placid. Absently my eyes scanned the decaying spruce leaves beneath my hiking boots, hand pointing my flashlight directly before my feet. Similarly, the friend group's other eight members trudged onward, footsteps crunching through the leaves, blissfully unaware of the looming threat following us. Preventing their deaths was possible, I yearned to believe. There must be something I can do, something I can say, to save them.

I was not afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of the inevitable.

"Does anyone else feel like we're being watched?" One friend's whisper sliced through the night air. Slowing, I directed my flashlight toward the speaker's feet as they hiked diagonally in front of me.

Although I opened my mouth to agree, I did not want to frighten the group by admitting I knew exactly what was watching us. If you cause no harm, you will receive no harm, I recited internally. Unfortunately, my hotheaded friends would probably not heed the life-saving advice.

An image of my welcoming bed drifted into my head, and I yearned to sleep. Louder than intended, I sighed.

"Don't you start complaining again, Sapnap," a friend rebutted harshly over their shoulder. "We already know you didn't want to come. No need to rub it in."

"I'm not rubbing it in," I muttered mutinously.

"Bullshit," another friend scoffed. "Not only are you a total coward, you're also a liar."

Hurt, I said nothing. Luckily, a triumphant cry from my friend group's leader distracted them from taunting me: "There it is!"

One by one, our flashlights lifted to illuminate our destination, approximately twenty meters ahead: the abandoned cabin. Made of rotting wooden planks, the entire building spanned no more area than a single-floor suburban house. Half of the dusty glass windows were smashed, and the rickety porch betrayed unstable infrastructure. The front door's hinges appeared broken, leaving the door crooked, hanging slightly open. Everything about the building screamed danger, which was exactly what attracted my adventure-seeking friends.

"Guys, I don't think you should go in there," I warned, catching up with the rest of the group as we gathered before the cabin. Surveying the empty forest around us, I reasoned gravely, "We're already trespassing."

"Ugh, don't bring up that 'private property' crap again," one of the friend group's leaders snapped harshly. "This cabin is abandoned. No one will know we've raided the place."

I wouldn't say that, I thought, but kept my mouth shut this time under my companions' baleful expressions.

"I'm going in," another friend volunteered, pointing her flashlight at the cabin's front door. Stepping forward, she glanced expectantly over one shoulder. "Who's with me?"

"Me."

"I'll go."

"Count me in, too."

"And me. I'll see if there's a jewelry box."

"I'll find some creepy shit for my collection."

"Seriously, you can't go in there," I persisted despite my dejection. "You don't know what's inside."

"Listen, wuss, if you're going to lose your shit because of a little house, you should just wait outside."

"Wait until he sees a raccoon," another friend taunted. "He'll think it's a rabid bear and come crying to us."

"I won't," I responded, flushed with humiliation as they shamed me. "I'm just trying to protect you. If you go inside, bad things will happen."

"Are you threatening us, Sapnap?" Eyes narrowed with suspicion, our friend group's leader lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. "Because you're way outnumbered if you try anything. One person can't take all of us."

A person couldn't take all of you... but what I feared was not a person.

Eight of the friend group's nine members paced toward the cabin, filing inside for exploration... and for theft, too. My silent refusal to accompany them was unsurprising; I always seemed to be the odd one out.

Wooden cabin walls muffled my friends' words, but their voices were still audible over the gentle breeze whistling through spruce leaves above my head. I watched the soft glow of flashlights peek out the windows as my friend group searched the cabin for whatever valuables or unsolved mysteries their perverse minds fantasized about.

Retreating, I leaned against a nearby spruce tree, warm breaths billowing into the night air. What else was I supposed to do? I tried to warn them, convince them to reconsider, yet they turned me away.You couldn't have done anything different, I tried to reassure myself. These 'friends' had never treated me with kindness nor respect; it was only a matter of time until some terrible karma happened to them.

Suddenly, hairs lifted along my neck and forearms with a dreadful tingling. Swallowing hard as I mentally prepared myself, I turned off my flashlight. Hugging myself, I sensed the entity's presence. Pleading for my friends' survival would culminate in nothing; instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and fell silent.

The entity's presence faded from my side. Seconds later, gasps echoed from the cabin.

"Holy shit, did you hear something?"

"What was that noise?"

"Carmen, do you see them, too?"

"Oh my god, who are you?"

My eyes remained squeezed shut as terrified screams and rampaging footsteps shattered the silence.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Get away from me!"

"Wait, please no, I'll do anything -"

Their horrified disbelief morphed into helpless shrieks of agony.

"Help! Someone help us!" Their frantic cries for me to rescue them stabbed my heart. Gritting my teeth, I pressed my palms against my ears in a vain attempt to stifle the nightmarish sounds.

"No, please stop! Leave me alone!" A final, bloodcurdling scream diminished into a cry of anguish. Dull thumps, heavy thuds, and liquid splatters echoed from inside the building. Then, the cabin's deathly silence resumed.

After ten stomach-churning minutes, I opened my eyes. Stars burst in my vision as a storm of guilt tormented my conscience. I sank to my knees. Blood spattered the cabin's glass windows, tainting the faint glow spilling from within pink.

When the cabin's front door opened, a human-appearing figure emerged. Whimpering, I drew my own flashlight again, and lifted it with a trembling hand; pressing the button, I revealed my friends' killer. Fresh blood covered the entity, dripping from his fingers, jaw, shoes, and the lower hem of his shirt. The rank liquid stained his pale skin and freckled face, slicking down his usually fluffy hair. His expression was unfazed as he advanced and stopped about one meter away from me. When my flashlight shone upon his torso, its glow illuminated not only the blood drenching his normally green shirt, but also the smiley-face design upon the shirt's front.

Minutes passed; the entity's omniscient presence was oddly comforting. Pressing my free hand to my lips, trembling fingers muffled my sobs as I peeled myself from the spruce tree's trunk and stood on shaky legs.

With my friends' blood pooling at his feet, the entity spoke first.

"I'm sorry they said those things to you. You're not a coward, Sapnap. You're brave." Tilting his head, he viewed me with soft compassion.

"I don't feel brave," my voice broke. Vision clouding with tears, I met the entity's sympathetic teal gaze. "I could've told them -"

"They wouldn't have understood," the entity shrugged. Gingerly stepping forward, he pulled me into an apologetic hug; the strange physics of his existence ensured the blood soaking him did not soil my clothing. "I'm sorry I had to do that. I know karma enactment hurts you."

'Karma enactment': the entity's mundane description of my friends' murders.

"Why did you kill them?" Sobs subsiding, my unsteady voice leveled out. The question was pointless, for the reason behind his actions was the same every time.

"Breaches of integrity," the entity stated simply as the blood staining his figure gradually dissolved. Within seconds, his hair and green shirt were clean and dry as normal. I would be surprised if he answered differently. "They insulted you and made you feel worthless. This was nowhere near the first time they've done those things. Also, they trespassed onto private property without hesitation, with the intent to steal. Severe breaches of integrity require severe punishments."

'Breaches of integrity' included lying out of selfishness, wronging those who have not wronged you, and committing actions you knew were immoral. Truthfully, my friend group had done all three harmful things.

Dream called himself a Karma Redeemer. Invisible to everyone but me, he claimed to be one of many such entities. Dream first revealed himself to me when I was five years old. Out of childish curiosity, I asked him what he was; he described a Karma Redeemer's purpose as ensuring those who were good to others received good in life. Dream was ageless, but he took the form of a kid, then a teenager, then a young adult as I grew. During my innocent childhood, I called him my imaginary friend... until I learned what he was capable of.

Wiping my streaming nose with one sleeve, and my tear-stained cheeks with the other, I hummed my acknowledgment of his explanation. Arguing would do nothing.

"I'll call the emergency services... again." Voice flat with defeat, I turned away from the lifeless cabin. Not even morbid curiosity would compel me to enter and view Dream's gruesome handiwork. "You can come, too."

"Cool."

I led Dream through the forest along the same route my friend group chose, shining my flashlight upon the leaf litter, ferns, and strewn sticks upon the forest floor. Biting cold air nipped at my ears and nose. When I glanced over my shoulder, Dream's upper half floated complacently behind me; intangibility was how he managed to remain undetected as he accompanied my friends and me during our crowded drive to this wretched place.

"It was considerate of you to warn them, even though they disrespected you," Dream complimented honestly. "They dragged you on a journey they knew was illegal and might put you into danger, or would at least get you in trouble. You came along only because they pressured you. You were a true friend to them. They should've been better friends to you."

I did not respond to his praise, but Dream sensed my acknowledgement. Sighing heavily, I rubbed my face with rough, calloused hands. "How'd you do it this time?"

"I didn't need to find a weapon." Dream's tone carried a note of satisfaction. "Flashlights are perfect for blunt force trauma."

"What if the police implicate me once I report this?" I murmured, head pounding with stress and fatigue. "I was the only witness. I'm a prime suspect."

"They won't implicate you," Dream answered simply. "Authorities will thank you for reporting the incident; otherwise, no one would've found the bodies for weeks." For all his horrendous acts, lying was never one of them. Dream foretold the future with pinpoint accuracy, given his significant role in influencing it.

After another minute of walking, Dream and I found the abandoned van, its doors and windows closed, the vehicle's outline nearly invisible in the forest's suffocating darkness. Nine people left this van; only one lonely person returned.

Onward I continued, down the dirt road. In the distance, through the spruce trees, a blue light radiated above an emergency phone booth. With Dream in friendly pursuit, I dashed forward, bursting onto the winding asphalt road. No other cars shone their headlights upon the cracked pavement, leaving me in darkness until I stumbled into the pool of blue light surrounding the phone booth.

Pressing the bright red button in the center of the booth's panel and pulling the solar-powered phone off the hook, I waited for a dial tone. Then,

"911, what's your emergency?"

Introducing myself with my full name, I relayed a brief description, "My location is off Highway 150 in the Sam Houston National Forest. I'm calling to report an accident."


	2. Lethal guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reminder: this short story contains graphic depictions of blood, violence, bullying, and death. Reader discretion is advised. Otherwise, please enjoy!**

~Flashback - Sapnap is eight years old~

Rather than look at my watchful mother or the receptionist behind her desk, I stared intently at the waiting room's gray carpet. Anxiety overshadowed my annoyance; I had wanted to spend my Saturday morning watching television, playing video games, or venturing to the neighborhood park. Instead, my parents scheduled today's appointment with a child psychologist.

Dressed in their professional white vest, the psychologist knelt before me. Meeting my downcast gaze, they greeted politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you. What's your name?"

"Nicholas," I mumbled. My fingers tightly gripped the leather seat cushion below me. My furtive gaze drifted to the side table in the corner of the waiting room, where a pile of magazines lay strewn across the table's glass surface.

"How was your morning, Nicholas? Are you feeling alright?"

Lifting a hand to brush hair from my eyes, I shrugged. Realizing my mother would not appreciate it if I did not verbally respond, I spoke, "Today's been okay. I'm kind of tired."

"I understand," the psychologist nodded. With genuine kindness, they suggested, "Would you feel okay talking to me?"

"Alright." Saying no would not be an option.

"Wonderful. I'm excited to speak with you." Standing, the psychologist gestured toward the open door on the other side of the waiting room, opposite from the entrance. Beyond the doorway lay a hallway with more gray carpet, office cubicles, and white-painted walls. "Would you like your mom to stay here?"

Hope rising in my chest, I nodded. Despite my embarrassment at answering yes, I knew my mother would not want to witness, anyway.

"Not a problem," the psychologist acknowledged. Turning to my mother, they said, "We'll be out in a little while."

"Take your time," my mother wished, forcing a smile. Worry shadowed her hazel gaze as she settled herself into a leather chair to wait. "Good luck."

"This way, please, Nicholas," the psychologist guided, holding the door open to the hallway as I followed. Eager to escape the tense waiting room, I straightened, curiously observing the office cubicles where other clinical workers typed on computers and referred to file folders.

Hairs along my forearms and neck lifted, not only from the building's air conditioning. Invisible and intangible, Dream quietly monitored our surroundings. Silently I denounced the Karma Redeemer's presence, for my strange imaginary friend was the exact reason my baffled parents scheduled this appointment.

Leading me down one wing of the building, the psychologist motioned me inside a door marked 'playroom'.

"Please take a seat wherever," they instructed casually, shutting the door behind us. When I hesitated, they added, "You may also stand. I don't mind." Leafing through the clipboard they held in one hand, they took a seat in a black-painted wooden chair in one corner of the small room.

Looking around the playroom, I observed the floor's shaggy carpet, intricately designed to mimic a cartoon city street. Along each wall were cubbies, a built-in one-way mirror with a secondary door beside it, a series of cabinets with labels such as 'paper' and 'art supplies', and a sink beside the entrance door. In the playroom's center, igniting my interest, lay a massive plastic tub full of children's toys.

The psychologist smiled with amusement when I glanced from the variety of objects to them. They permitted, "Feel free to play with the toys. We can talk while you have fun."

I needed no further encouragement. Instantly relieved I would not have to sit still in a chair, I dove toward the tub. Sorting with my eyes, I selected plastic bags full of small toy cars and train tracks, ignoring the psychologist's intent gaze. Peering from their clipboard, fingers clutching a pen, their poised hand began jotting quick notes. Clearing their throat, they prompted gently, "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Nicholas?"

"I'm eight years old, I go to school, and I like math class." Distractedly arranging the toy cars and train tracks along the cityscape carpet, I recited, "I read books sometimes, too."

Patiently listening, the psychologist hummed their acknowledgment. "It's interesting that you enjoy math and literature. Some kids say they don't like arithmetic or reading. Why are those your favorite parts of class?"

"Math makes sense to me," I admitted. Rummaging through the tub of toys again, I selected a toy train which could ride upon the train tracks. "Reading makes me feel like I'm somewhere else, away from here." Placing the train to the side, I set up a miniature train station and attached the train tracks to hooks near the station's base.

"It seems you don't like when things don't make sense," the psychologist proposed. "Do you wish you could be free from what doesn't make sense?"

Pausing, I furrowed my brows in thought. "Yeah, I guess." Sifting through the plastic tub, I found a series of dolls and loaded them into the toy cars.

"Why don't you tell me about the scene you've constructed there?" The psychologist prompted. "It looks like people in a car, driving toward the train station. Are they going to drop off a passenger?"

"No," I shook my head. "The people in the car were bad. They have to go to the train tracks."

"Why?" Voice pitched with a strange intrigue, the psychologist watched closely as I placed the toy car full of dolls directly upon the train tracks.

"The people in the car did something bad?" Finally, I arranged the toy train upon the tracks, pointing toward the car of dolls stuck in the railroad crossing.

"Is the train going to run over those people because they did something bad?" When I did not answer the question, the psychologist pressed, "What did they do?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. Falling silent, I edged away from the toys. Antsy under the medical professional's gaze, I returned the vehicles, train station, tracks, and dolls to the plastic tub.

Silence deafened the playroom until the psychologist, undeterred, asked new questions, "Nicholas, do you have friends at or outside of school?"

"I hang out with friends at school. We play video games at each other's houses every month." My answer was normal, adorably simple; I wished it were the complete answer. Remembering the reason my parents scheduled this appointment, I added shyly, "I also have an imaginary friend I talk to sometimes."

"Can you describe your imaginary friend to me, please?" When I flushed with embarrassment, they added, "I promise I am not judging you. Although I will speak with your mom after our meeting, the details of this conversation will stay between us."

"Okay," I accepted hesitantly. Reluctantly I began, "My imaginary friend is named Dream. If people are nice to me, he does nice things for them. If people are mean to me, he hurts them."

"Does Dream ever tell you to say or do things to other people?"

"Never," I shook my head. "He tells me to wait behind or look away. He doesn't want me to see him hurt them."

"It sounds like Dream cares about you," the psychologist noted thoughtfully.

"Yeah," I answered positively. Smiling to myself, I elaborated, "We talk a lot. No one else can see him, and sometimes I can't touch him, but he's always with me."

"Is Dream here with us in this room right now?"

"Yes."

***

After our one-hour appointment, the psychologist and I returned to the waiting room. 

"Mrs. Armstrong, may I consult with you?" When my mother stood from one of the waiting room's leather chairs to join, the psychologist instructed me, "Nicholas, would you mind waiting here for another few minutes? You can read the magazines on the side table."

"Okay," I agreed shyly. Anxiety twisted in my gut as the psychologist led my mother into the hallway, then closed the door behind them. Instinctively I glanced toward the receptionist, who smiled kindly before returning her gaze to the front desk's computer. Her fingers resumed their monotonous typing.

As I leafed through the stack of assorted magazines, Dream materialized in front of me, appearing in his ten-year-old body to mirror mine. A glance at the receptionist, whose expression remained unchanged, revealed my Karma Redeemer was still invisible to everyone but me.

"What are they talking about?" I whispered to Dream, seating myself in a leather chair.

"The psychologist is describing their opinion on your condition." He tilted his head, listening closely to a conversation I could not hear. "They believe you have a schizoaffective disorder, but they're not sure."

"Are you going to hurt them?" I did not know what 'schizoaffective disorder' meant, and wondered if it were an insult.

"No, they're not being mean," Dream explained, using vocabulary I would understand. Fondly, he added, "I liked that psychologist. They were patient and made sure you were comfortable." He paused, teal eyes gaining a distant look. "They have an aunt suffering from bronchitis in the hospital, and their four-year-old son is sick with the flu. I'll make sure both recover without a hitch."

Dream did not only deliver bad karma. Although I hated admitting it, Dream generously delivered good karma as well.

"What's my mom saying?" Returning the magazine to the pile upon the side desk, I twiddled my fingers with impatient apprehension.

Staring directly at the wall which separated the psychologist and my mother from Dream and me, my Karma Redeemer answered, "She's thanking the psychologist for their time and efforts, but she's frustrated you don't have a specific diagnosis."

"Oh." Disappointed, I sighed. Maintaining a low voice, I asked reluctantly, "Does that mean I have to come back?"

"Your mother is considering. Both of them are very concerned for you." Turning to look at me again, Dream announced, "They're coming back."

Within seconds, my mother and the psychologist emerged from the door to the hallway, wearing pleasant smiles which Dream's analysis revealed were forced. Upon their return, Dream himself vanished.

"Alright, Nick, let's go home," my mother beckoned, slinging her purse over one shoulder. "Say thank you to the psychologist for their help, please."

"Thank you," I dipped my head politely to the medical professional.

"Happy to help," the psychologist responded. Despite their courteous smile, uncertainty shadowed their brown gaze.

Hopping off the leather chair, I followed my mother out of the waiting room. Exiting the medical building's double glass doors, my mother and I breathed hot, humid Texas air as we descended the concrete steps leading from the entrance. Reaching the sidewalk, we turned left toward where our car waited in a parking lot, one block away. Between the medical building and the parking lot lay several local businesses and a gas station. As my mother and I strolled past the gas station, a clicking noise alerted me. Curious, I looked to see a man in his fifties filling his white pickup truck with gas; using a stall only a few meters away, he was the only person nearby. His hawk-eyed gaze fixed on my mother.

"Let's walk a little faster," my mother murmured to me. Gently tapping my shoulder, she hastened our pace. The man must have made the clicking noise at her.

"Morning, honey, you're looking fine today!" The man called, taking a drag from his cigarette. In response, my mother clutched her purse closer with one hand and grabbed my own hand with the other. "Hey, you better respond when I compliment you!" He stepped forward as if to follow us.

"Run, Nicholas!" My mother's voice rose with panic. Together we fled, my eight-year-old legs sprinting to keep up with hers.

"Why's he yelling at you?" I panted, fear and adrenaline coursing through me. Despite the Texas heat, chills coursed up my spine; I rarely saw my mother so openly afraid.

"Because he knows I can't stop him." Her tone was harsh with bitterness. As a thirty-one-year-old woman with a small, seemingly vulnerable stature, I learned later she dealt with catcalling frequently.

"Shit!" I heard a harsh curse. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the predatory man flinch as a puddle of liquid formed on the asphalt around his booted feet. The gas line fueling his car had ruptured, soaking his blue jeans with gasoline.

Breathing hard, my mother and I reached the parking lot where her small gray car resided. Once my mother unlocked the doors, I leapt into the back seat, locking the door behind me. Putting on my seat belt as my mother powered up the engine, I stretched to peer out the side window. Both my mother and I gasped when the lit cigarette tumbling from the man's fingers, landing upon the puddle of gasoline spilled at his feet. The gasoline ignited instantly.

"Nick, look away!" My mother thrust a hand into the back seat to shield my young eyes; too late, for I had already seen a wave of fire engulf the older man. Flames consumed his boots and jeans, licking at his shirt, setting the man's entire body on fire.

Beside the inferno stood Dream in his ten-year-old form; the immense heat did not bother him. Most striking was the Karma Redeemer's careful expression as he skillfully directed the flames, ensuring they did not harm the gas station stall's machinery. Once certain the controlled fire would destroy only the catcalling man, Dream turned to me. Fingers dripping with gasoline from the ruptured gas line, the entity waved with a satisfied smile.


	3. Fate vs. free will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reminder: this short story contains graphic depictions of blood, violence, bullying, and death. Reader discretion is advised. Otherwise, please enjoy!**

~ Sapnap - present day ~

Patiently I intertwined my fingers, salivating as I observed the array of food on my dinner plate. Across from my spot at the wooden table in the house's main living area, a second dinner plate sported a smaller quantity of food for my mother. The middle-aged woman herself held a glass of water with one hand and rummaged through the kitchen medicine cabinet with the other. The third place at the dinner table held only an empty dinner plate; my father would eat later. The detached man ate not when dinner was ready, but when his daily office work was finished. I suspected he dragged out his tasks purposefully to avoid socializing with his wife and son.

Casually I waited for my mother to consume her two daily prescriptions: one anti-anxiety pill and one antidepressant. Once she swallowed both and drank the glass of water, my mother joined me at the dinner table, seating herself in a squeaky wooden chair.

"Dinner looks delicious, Mom," I complimented warmly.

"Thanks, Nick," my mother accepted graciously. "Luckily I didn't burn the squash this time."

Both of us dug into the food; although my mother generally ate less, we shared voracious appetites.

"How was your day at work?" I asked politely.

"Oh, you don't want to hear about that boring crap," my mother dismissed with a wave. "I say the same thing every day: work consists of meetings and emails, not much more."

I hummed my acknowledgement.

"You remember what week it is, right?" Lifting her blue eyes from the meal, my mother flashed a gleeful smile as she changed the subject.

"What week is it?" Rolling my eyes playfully, I took the bait.

"It's University Acceptance Week! All the universities you applied to have returned letters to applicants. We'll probably receive your letters in the mail any day now." When my neutral expression displayed a lack of enthusiasm, my mother pressed "You can't say you aren't excited to hear back! You applied to eight universities, Nick. Surely one will accept you, and I'll be happy regardless."

"Even if it isn't the University of Texas at Austin?" My silver fork flicked a remaining scrap of food on my plate.

"Even if it isn't," she promised. "Their acceptance rate is about thirty percent. You still have a good shot."

"I don't know," I hesitated. Reluctantly I confessed, "I don't think my test scores were high enough. If they accept me, that's great, but I'm not sure it'll happen."

"Don't say that," my mother dismissed. Grimacing at the flickering flame of the wax candle standing between us, she assured, "I won't let our whole family curse stop you from believing in yourself."

I scoffed, then stilled. Family curse? Frowning, I asked incredulously, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it's..." My mother replaced her utensils upon the dinner table, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her off-hand comment had not meant to slip out. Lowering her gaze and voice, she admitted, "I'm sure you've noticed neither of us has the most average luck, I suppose."

"Luck?"

"Listen, I feel weird explaining it," my mother spat, suddenly hesitant to continue the conversation. "Your father never understood, and you may not believe me, either."

"I promise I'll listen," I offered weakly, unsure if compelling her to confess was impolite.

"Well..." Finally, my mother caved. "I call it a family curse, but sometimes during my life, I've felt like someone was watching me." Rubbing a tendril of wavy brown hair off her forehead, her blue eyes grew distant as she relayed, "I could never shake the feeling. All my hairs would stand up." Rubbing her forearms, she finished, "Whenever I had that feeling, either something good or something terrible would happen."

Silence.

Ashamed for confessing her hidden secret, my mother smiled sadly to herself. Hastily she apologized, "Sorry for shoving all that confusion onto you. It's really nothing -"

"No, I believe you," I assured, watching as the woman fluttered from the table, carrying our two cleared plates to the sink. Beneath my quiet voice, my gut twisted with a strange combination of dread and hope.

"Thank you, Nick." Before I could question her further, my mother changed the subject. "I'm glad you enjoyed dinner. I'll put the rest away for your father when he's finished with work. I guess I'll pick up the mail, too, while I'm at it." Her words rushed from her mouth, spitting every excuse her brain conjured to abandon the sensitive conversation.

As my mother scraped the plates into the compost bin and began cleaning the kitchen, I cleared our two placemats and utensils off the table, leaving the placemat and dinner plate for my father to use later. Blowing out the candle flame, I hurried from the living room and into my bedroom, then closed the door behind me.

Discerning Dream's presence was unnecessary; he accompanied me everywhere. As I searched through my disorganized closet for a jacket, the entity materialized behind me, standing in the center of my bedroom. Turning around, I whispered with a hushed, excited voice, "Did you hear what my mom said? She must have a Karma Redeemer, too!"

"She does," Dream confirmed.

"Do you know who they are?"

Dream held my gaze. My excitement morphed into bewilderment when he disclosed plainly, "I'm her Karma Redeemer, Sapnap."

Initially, I did not register his answer. Frowning, I stammered, "You?"

"Yes. I monitor her, but I never reveal myself to her like I show myself to you." Escorting me to sit on the side of my bed, Dream explained, "She doesn't know about Karma Redeemers. I decided not showing myself was a mistake, which is why I've shown myself to you since you were young."

"So you're... hereditary?" I asked curiously.

"Not necessarily," Dream admitted. Approaching my side, his human-appearing form seated itself on the blanket beside me. "The Karma Redemption System assigned me to your mother. Before you were born, I requested to be a Karma Redeemer for you, too. The System allowed it."

"Why did you choose me?" Why would he request to guard me before he even knew who I was?

Dream's next statement was one I never thought I would hear him say.

"I miscalculated."

Careful to avoid spooking him, I nodded with intrigue. This was a potential treasure trove of information which would explain my past. "You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable, Dream." Despite my gentle encouragement, I was eager to hear his account; Dream sensed my intense interest. In a rare instance, he faltered, as if considering whether to communicate confidential information.

"Karma Hosts are not immune to Karma Redemption," Dream began slowly. "Even though my job is to protect you, my job is also to remain unbiased. You have a strong moral compass, Sapnap, but you've received bad karma for your mistakes, too."

"That's true," I acknowledged. Unsavory memories entered my mind, including the time when I teased a classmate about their clothing style, then promptly tripped and sprained an ankle, and the time when I stole cake off the countertop before my mother's birthday, only to permanently stain my favorite white shirt with rainbow frosting.

"You've never made a serious breach of integrity," Dream granted. Gravely, he added, "Your mother didn't, either, until one incident. She knew her decision was wrong and would harm others, but she did it anyway."

"What did she do?"

"Doesn't matter anymore," he dismissed with an averse wave of the hand. "Even though my ultimate goal was to benefit her, I had to bring her bad karma."

A chill travelled up my spine; the entity notoriously characterized his destructive actions with innocuous words such as 'bad karma'. "Did you hurt my mom?"

"Not directly," Dream shrugged. Facing me, his teal gaze bore into mine. "Karma Redemption is based on a person's hopes and fears. Whatever you hope for is your reward. Whatever you fear is your punishment. Those old friends of yours died in the cabin because they feared death. Your child psychologist's aunt and son recovered from illness because the psychologist wished for it."

"Okay, that explains a lot, but how is that related to my mom?"

"You want the entire truth?" Dream asked cautiously.

I hesitated. He had never asked me such a question before. The entity held incredible knowledge and power; the prospect of receiving such information felt illegal. Finally, I submitted to temptation. "Yes, please."

Scooting closer to me, Dream placed a hand on my shoulder; static bristled across my arm and back. Although I took the hint to mentally prepare myself, nothing could have prepared me for what he described next.

"During her university years, your mother's best friend fell in love with a man, and dated him for several months. When she and your mother got into an argument, your mother retaliated by seducing her best friend's boyfriend; they had sexual intercouse on three separate incidents. Every incident was consensual. Your mother's best friend was devastated when she discovered her boyfriend's infidelity and your mother's betrayal of her trust."

Suddenly I no longer desired to listen to his story, but it was too late. Voice shaking, I asked, "If that's true, why didn't you kill my mom for... doing that?"

"I could have killed both your mother and the boyfriend for their breaches of integrity, but neither of them feared death," Dream explained. Narrowing his eyes, he revealed, "Your mother feared a marriage without love. The unfaithful boyfriend feared a commitment he couldn't handle. An unintentional pregnancy between them was the ideal solution to deliver karma to both parties."

The second horrible realization hit me; the 'unfaithful boyfriend' Dream mentioned was not simply a random man from my mother's university. He became my father. Searching my memories, I tried to think when either of my parents revealed how they met, when they became partners, or why they decided to marry, and realized I had never learned the answers to any of those questions.

"So..." My voice emerged as a croak. "I was... an accident?"

"You weren't an accident. You were a punishment." At my mortification, Dream added hastily, "I mean, to your parents, you were an accident. I requested to care for you because none of it was your fault. I miscalculated, using your existence as a punishment was unfair to you. I'm sorry."

Silence. My world spun. My stomach fell and shoulders slouched. Numbness tingled in my feet as memories flooded my head. I heard my father criticizing and ignoring my mother without care for her emotions. I remembered stewing in my bedroom while my mother complained about how she despised her former best friend from university. I remembered the nights I cried, wondering why the universe seemed to loathe my existence, yet if my mother had never betrayed her best friend and married a cheater, I would never have existed.

"Dream." My flat, wavering voice hinted at the deadly storm brewing inside me. When the entity held my gaze, rage boiled in my belly. "Did you know that would happen?"

"Yes."

"You set my mom up to get screwed, then emotionally ditched, because she made some stupid mistake at some point in her life?"

"To be fair," Dream interjected. "My miscalculation was why I requested to stick around and make sure you lived a fair life regardless of your parentage, receiving good karma where it helps you."

"Do you have any idea how much I hate my father?" I ranted vehemently. "Do you realize what I would've given to have a different dad? Do you see how often I tell myself I have to be careful not to end up like him? You did that like it was nothing!"

Dream listened patiently, his calm expression unchanging as his hand rubbed comforting circles upon my shoulders and back. When my hoarse voice trailed into choked sobs, he leaned closer to hug me. Despite my contempt for his existence in this moment, I did not refuse his comfort.

"Would you like a moment alone?" Dream asked gently.

"Yes," I groaned. "Please."

"Alright," he acknowledged. Instantly Dream fizzled, vanishing into midair. The sensation of his embrace did not fade, however; he never truly left me alone, but the lack of anyone visible in the room helped me re-establish a calm demeanor. Throat thick, I coughed into a clenched fist; when I swallowed and sniffed, my bleary vision revealed my hands were trembling.

Why did I ask him about Mom? I berated myself for expressing so much curiosity, for uncovering a past which was better off lost to history. The bounty of information I learned tonight weighed on my shoulders: too much in such a short time. Dream changed my family's fates. He caused my existence. Standing from my bedside, I sent the Karma Redeemer a challenge, You can read thoughts. Tell me how my parents feel about me. Do they still love me, even though I was -? Scowling, I debated whether to complete the question with the words 'an accident' or 'a punishment'.

Dream sensed my question. After a breath of silence, his soft voice whispered near one of my ears in a small puff of air,

"You are loved, Sapnap."

Slumping into the swiveling office chair beside my desk, I rested my elbows upon the desk surface, cradled my head in my hands, and wept again. Mom loves you, I soothed myself as my sobs echoed faintly in my gloomy bedroom. Your father loves you, too. Silent but watchful, Dream's invisible presence stood directly behind my chair, patiently guarding me in my most vulnerable state. Although inhuman, the entity was undeniably devoted to my safety. Dream loves you, too, in his own way, I added grudgingly.

Speaking into the air, I muttered, "I guess you did what you needed to do." Effectively, I forgave him, for Dream always had my best interests in mind.

Abruptly, thumping echoed in my ears as a human ran down the hallway, skidding to halt outside my room.

"Nicholas, open up!" My white-painted door muffled my mother's high-pitched excitement. "Look what came in the mail!"

Wiping my eyes and clearing my throat to hide my emotions, I stood from my swiveling chair. Hurrying to the bedroom door, I revealed my ecstatic mother. Her blue eyes gleamed bright with enthusiasm, and a wide grin split her face as one hand shoved a previously folded paper before my face.

"What is it, Mom?"

"No questions, just look!" Waving the paper, she thrust it into my hands, along with a torn white envelope.

Plucking the paper from my mother's hand, I observed intricately swirling red borders and a creamy background. Scanning the typed paragraphs, I blinked with disbelief. This mail was an acceptance letter to the University of Texas at Austin: my dream university.

When my jaw visibly dropped, my mother squealed with excitement and launched herself into my arms. Holding me tightly, she cooed, "I'm so proud of you, honey." Retreating from our hug, she encouraged me to step into the hallway, where I raised the letter. A light above our heads illuminated the words, revealing this was not only an acceptance letter.

"Look, Nick! Read what it says here!" With a manicured nail, my mother pointed to a short paragraph in the middle of the letter.

"A scholarship?" I stared in disbelief.

"A full scholarship," my mother corrected. Giggling, she added tearfully, "It means the university will cover your entire tuition, one-hundred-percent, if you attend." Wiping her eyes, she added with unmistakable pride, "Your test scores must've been even better than you and I thought." Heaving a sigh, the woman pulled me into a second hug.

I returned my mother's embrace, but no more tears came to my eyes as I monitored the office where my father worked, located near my bedroom; the door remained closed. Although the man inside could surely hear our jubilation, he did not emerge to congratulate me. Whatever. I had not expected him to do so, anyway.

Sliding past the closed office door, my vision fixed on a spot at the end of the hallway. The air shimmered until Dream appeared. My strange friend observed my mother's and my lasting embrace, looking as sheepish as an inhuman entity could be.


	4. nOW THAT INTERSTATE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reminder: this short story contains graphic depictions of blood, violence, bullying, and death. Reader discretion is advised. Otherwise, please enjoy!**

~ Sapnap - present day - 2:30pm ~

Keeping my gaze downcast to avoid the blazing late summer sun, I shoved both hands into my pockets. As I squinted at the paved ground before me, my eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. Walking across my university's massive campus while distracted like this was a terrible mistake.

At the crosswalk leading toward the dormitory buildings, nine seconds remained on the countdown. Plenty of time to cross, I assured myself, gripping the straps of my heavy backpack. However, I forgot I was not impervious to karma myself. Instead of pressing the crosswalk button and patiently waiting for the next walk cycle, I dashed into the road with full knowledge I should wait: a breach of integrity.

When I sprinted into the road, a series of high-pitched rings and a frantic call sounded from my peripheral vision. "Watch out!"

My head snapped around, and I froze too late. An incredible force crashed into my side, toppling my body to the ground. Grunting from shock, I braced myself for impact, landing palms-first upon the street. Luckily, my hoodie and thick jeans absorbed a majority of the impact, leaving most skin intact. Shaking myself, I dragged my backpack off the asphalt and sat up.

Nearby voices trickled into my ringing ears, asking if we were injured. Flushed with embarrassment, I realized a small group of curious university students gathered on the concrete curb, watching with concern.

One meter away, the biker who slammed into me righted himself, carefully checked the road for cars, then stared at me with wide brown eyes. From his young face, fallen backpack, and hideous Supreme shirt, I realized he must be a university student, too. Brushing feathery brown hair off his forehead, he stood.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you." The biker apologized profusely, offering a pale hand.

"Don't worry about it, dude," I grunted, heaving myself off the asphalt with the biker's help. Brushing leaf litter and dust off my shirt and jeans, I quickly checked my phone in my back pocket; luckily the screen was intact. "How's your bike?" The aluminum frame appeared unharmed, but I decided to be polite.

"My bike's been through worse," the student shrugged. Looking me up and down, he assessed, "Are you hurt?"

"I've been through worse," I echoed, smirking despite the scrapes burning along one hip and elbow.

"Well, it's the first week, I guess this is a good time for an introduction," the student extended one hand for a handshake. "I'm George. I'm in my fourth year. Computer Sciences major."

"I'm Sapnap," I returned. "I'm in my first year. I haven't chosen a major yet."

"It takes time to decide," George acknowledged, leading us across the street as the crowd of onlookers dissipated. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too."

Upon the cracked concrete sidewalk, shielding our eyes from the blistering Texas sun, George and I headed up the slight hill. The older student guided his bike beside him while I kept pace on his other side, albeit with a slight limp from the earlier collision. Together, we made friendly conversation as we neared a fork in the road where one street led to the dormitory buildings and the other led to apartment complexes.

"I guess we split off here." George panted in the heat as we halted before a second, smaller crosswalk. He pointed across the street, toward where a series of brick buildings were barely visible through the late summer haze. "I live in a flat over there."

"Cool." Pointing slightly to the left, I responded, "My building is that way -" When I turned to look at the student, he did not meet my gaze. Head craned over one shoulder, George's dark brown eyes focused on a spot directly behind us. His lips pursed and eyes glazed with unease. Warily I turned to look.

Along the sidewalk, following at a casual pace, were two human-appearing entities. One was Dream, his brown hair fluffy, wearing a green shirt with a smiley-face design. The second entity was shorter, with black hair, a beanie, and a blue shirt with the design of a small yellow duck on the front.

"It's nothing," George excused himself hastily as he witnessed my disturbed expression. "It was just a bird -"

"You see those two guys?" I faced George.

Growing pallid with disbelief, the student's eyes widened in disbelief. His jaw dropped. Gripping the handles of his bike, he lowered his voice to rasp cautiously, "You see them, too?"

"Yeah, I do." My heart raced. I'm not alone. Not only did this other student recognize the existence of Karma Redeemers, he had one, too.

"My Karma Redeemer's there. Do you know the other one?" George asked, maintaining a whispered volume.

"That other one's mine." Softening, I sidled closer to the suddenly antsy student. "His name's Dream. Who's yours?"

"He goes by Quackity." George sighed with relief. "I thought I was the only one who saw them." Tightening his grip on one bike handle, he buried his face into his other elbow, overwhelmed. When he recovered, his deep brown eyes glittered as he met my gaze with new respect. By learning we both grew up with Karma Redeemers, we uncovered elements of each others' pasts and shared traumas. Voice shaky, George admitted, "Quackity scares me. If people hurt me, he hurts them far worse."

"I was scared of Dream, too," I conceded. "But he and I have no choice but to be friends. He's just doing his job." I sounded more confident than I felt, but George appeared shaken. With a friendly smirk, I pulled my smartphone from my pocket, unlocked the screen, and handed it to the older student. "Let's be friends."

George scoffed, then plucked the phone from my hand with an exasperated smile. "Sure, whatever." Growing more comfortable, he created a contact for himself, then handed the phone back to me.

Instinctively I flipped the screen to view his new contact.

GHD, THE SEX HAVER

"George, I think we'll make great friends."

"I have other friends you could meet, too," George offered. When I blinked up at him, he added helpfully, "They've never pissed off Quackity. Maybe Dream will like them, too!"

"Sounds good." Pocketing my smartphone, adjusting my backpack straps, and wiping sweat off my brow, I affirmed, "Dream would let me know if there were a problem."

"How about we meet near my apartment?" George suggested. "I live in Building 404."

"I know where that is," I agreed. "Would 5:30pm tonight work?"

After a brief consideration, George agreed, "That's fine. I'll see you then, Sapnap!" Hopping onto his bike, he began to pedal away.

"Got it. Bye, George!"

Once we parted ways, I strode toward my dormitory complex, smiling giddily to myself from making a new friend, one who intricately understood the secret parts of my life story. Beside me, I felt Dream's presence and lowered my voice to a thrilled whisper. "Dude, Dream, did you know that other guy?"

"Quackity? Yeah, I know him. He's excellent at Karma Redemption."

"Has he ever killed people?" I asked quietly, eyeing a group of bantering university students as my invisible friend and I passed.

"His kills tend to be messier than mine."

"George said he was afraid of him," I mumbled, envisioning similar experiences to mine from my new friend's point of view.

"Quackity can be a little intense," Dream conceded. "But George likes him more than he lets on."

I hummed my acknowledgement, mind buzzing with the new information as I arrived at my student dormitory building. Scanning my university student ID under a card reader, I pulled open the glass door. The Karma Redeemer's presence dissipated as I scanned my ID beneath another card reader and entered one of the dormitory building's hallways.

"Karl, I'm back!" I announced my arrival outside one of the hallway's doors.

"Sap!" From inside the dorm room, a mattress squeaked and socked footsteps thumped upon the carpet; Karl must have been sleeping. My roommate, dressed in a loose purple t-shirt and black sweatpants, greeted me. As he held open the door for my entry, we exchanged friendly slaps upon each other's backs. "What's up, man?" Karl's gaze drifted to my bleeding elbow. "Woah, what happened?"

"A biker obliterated me, but he was chill." Placing my backpack on the carpeted floor beside my personal desk, I collapsed into my wooden chair. Finally cooling down from the balmy weather outside, I explained, "His name's George. He invited me to hang out with him and his friends." Standing up again, heading to wash my elbow in the nearby restroom sink, I proposed, "Want to come with us?"

"Absolutely!" Karl agreed immediately. "When?"

"5:30pm tonight."

Checking the time on his smartphone, my roommate whipped around. "Oh, honk! Okay, I need to shower!" Grabbing the towel off the metal rack near the dorm room's entrance, he rushed out and slammed the door shut behind us, heading past me to the dormitory's communal showers.

~6:30pm~

Later in the evening, as the hazy sun drifted toward the horizon, my roommate Karl and I joined our new friend group at an apartment shared by roommates Bad and Skeppy, gathered around a kitchen counter for an intense card game.

"Uno!" Karl's voice pitched as he slapped his final card upon the stack. Leaning back, he crossed his arms triumphantly.

"Goddammit!" I shouted, tossing the rest of my deck onto the table surface.

"I was so close!" Skeppy's irritation echoed mine.

"I demand a rematch," George grumbled, rolling his eyes as he plucked cards from his own deck out of frustration.

Bad simply watched the exchange; he lost the game, too, but was unwilling to voice his defeat vocally. Instead, as the rest of the guys argued, jabbing accusatory fingers across the kitchen counter, our friend valiantly collected the cards and began the arduous task of reshuffling the deck.

Despite the shouting echoing through the apartment, our friend group was thoroughly enjoying ourselves. For the first time in years, I felt perfectly at home in a loving, supportive group of misfits like me. Hosts Bad and Skeppy offered George, Karl, and me party snacks and a vegetable platter; our plan for tonight also included a rigorous host of video games and movies.

Once the dispute over the previous Uno game subsided, our group dispersed momentarily for restroom breaks. Bad finished reshuffling the deck, and distributed seven cards to each participant. As our friend group exchanged small talk, George and I simultaneously straightened. Our eyes lifted to meet one another's. To Bad, Skeppy, and Karl, the apartment's occupants numbered five. To George and me, the apartment's population was seven.

Together, we looked toward the far, shadowy corner of the apartment. George was right; not once had Karma Redeemers Dream or Quackity gazed upon our friends with harmful intent. For once, I did not need to worry about death consuming my companions.

Occupying their corner, the two inhuman entities worked together quietly, painting upon the white canvas Bad offered for their entertainment. The sight of Dream and Quackity dipping their fingers into open cans of finger paint and creating scenery lent a surreal irony to the apartment. Taking turns, the Karma Redeemers painted a blue sky, grassy ground, a shining sun, fluffy white clouds, and pastel rainbows... hovering above a murky red pool of blood, in which dead bodies and skeletons were strewn everywhere.

While Karl, Skeppy, and Bad began placing Uno cards from their decks onto the table, Dream and Quackity murmured to each other, then turned their heads. George and I met their gazes expectantly.

"Sapnap, would you mind playing music, please?" Dream requested politely. The request was not new; during nights of my childhood, I frequently asked Dream to turn off the desk light or close the bedroom door when I was already warm beneath the blankets. In return, I always agreed to play music Dream enjoyed.

"Sure." Drawing my smartphone from my pocket, I excused myself momentarily from the counter, hopped off my barstool, and carried my phone to the Karma Redeemers. Dream watched with a pleased expression, while Quackity appeared more cautious as I opened my music application. Keeping the volume low, I placed the phone face-up on the coffee table beside the easel and clicked 'shuffle'. "Here."

"Thank you."

Once I left my phone to play the music, I nearly burst out laughing as Quackity followed my departure by calling to his Karma Host,

"Hey, George, you dumb bitch! Aren't you going to play music for me, too?" His request was slightly less polite than Dream's, but no less full of undisguised care.

Jarred from the game, George tossed his next Uno card upon the growing pile on the countertop, then hurried past me as I returned to my seat. On his smartphone, he loaded a music playlist for his smug Karma Redeemer as Dream suppressed a laugh. I had never seen Dream laugh before, and raised my eyebrows at George in surprise as my new friend darted back to the table in time for Bad to announce,

"Uno! Fastest round yet!" The participants surrounding the kitchen counter collectively groaned while Bad pumped both fists in victory.

As the rest of the players submerged into one final round, I glanced toward the Karma Redeemers again. Although George and I played completely different, probably conflicting songs for the entities to listen to, Dream and Quackity did not appear to mind; both swayed gently from side to side, their eyes glassy with enjoyment. Smiling to myself at their temporary peace from trampling through George's and my lives, I listened to the words of the song I played on a loop for Dream,

"People change like the tides in the ocean, at least I think, or am I dead wrong?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW THAT INTERSTATE OF FRIENDSHIP IS PAVED WITH MEMORIES


End file.
